Category: Family

Goodbye Jack

It’s been 13 days since I last saw her. Our semi-feral cat, with us five years, was estimated to be 17 or 18 years old. A respectable age to bow out. Since February 2019 when I brought her home, there was not a single day without her showing up several times a day to be fed primarily and to be petted. I went to all of her hiding spots but haven’t found her. My neighbour said some cats disappear when their time has come to die. It’s hard not to know but it is a lot harder to find one’s lifeless cat.

Here is the story of how she came into our life, along with selected pictures I took since then. She was a beauty. Not very friendly, but not obnoxious. Her meows were horrible and I called her “gracious” as a joke, but when you got her to purr, everything was forgotten and forgiven.

There she was on a fine chilly early February day in 2019. I had met her the previous week at the house of my ex’s grandfather who had passed away at a very old age and whose house was being cleared out.

He had not really adopted that cat. Rather, the cat had elected at some point to hang out around his house and chosen to be taken care of there. They thought the cat to be male and had named him Minou. But with this amount of colours in the fur, it was a female cat.

I called her Jack due to the black patch around her eye, her left front elbow once broken that had solidified into a perpetual hook and made her limp, and her calico fur, which reminded me of the pirate name Calico Jack.

I found her rather friendly for a cat that lived in the wild. In the wild but-close-to-humans! I don’t know much about her life. I know how she was injured though. A drunkard then related to the family by marriage once shot lead bullets at the cat and hit her at the elbow. Yeah, appalling. I suppose she escaped to the nearby woods for a while to heal.

I drove her home. Probably the second worst time of her life after being shot at! The 25-minute drive on the highway made her miserable and made me feel horribly helpless. She probably had never been on the road in a car before. She cried all the time and in the last 5 minutes of the trip she had an unfortunate diarrhea incident, true to the idiom “scared shitless”.

Jack spent the next several days hiding in the toilets. behind or next to the porcelain seat. Very occasionally she would accept to be coaxed (with food, mostly) outside but only in the corridor adjacent to the loo and only by me and only if I was crouched or kneeling. Please enjoy these few seconds of petting as I and her did then. The taming lasted days and weeks. My dad or my then 11 year old boy approaching would send her into hiding.

By the end of her first week with us she relocated from the toilet room to the adjacent kitchen. She occupied the visible space between the rubbish bin and the cabinets, which was like her at a balcony. Or the nook behind connected to the cabinet at the left, where she hid most of the time for another week. She was extremely quiet then. She had not graced us of her horrible wailing and anguished or demanding meows yet.

By the end of the second week, she moved from the nook to the kitchen stools. Lunch and dinner were her favourite times of the day. She was so food-driven that feeding her was the only way for us to connect with her. And she would eat anything apparently. Even cake, even potatoes, even pasta. We had to be careful that she would not try to eat our fingers, thinking the pink round appendages were part of the offerings!

At this point she started to show a wee bit less fear of the other humans in the house. And since she had not visited the house beyond the entrance hallway and the kitchen, she had yet to meet the dog! And the other cat knew better than to get close to the strange pheromones that Jack probably emitted.

By the third week she ventured out of the kitchen, into the living room. I used to work from the living room then. I would either sit on the armchair at the corner of the room, or the couch. She liked the latter best because she could then sit next to me on the other side of the couch. And I would pet her every now and then.

Fast forward to the end of the third week. Jack knew there were other animals. I’ve got to say that neither Gizmo the yellow Labrador nor Jedi the female rescue tabby cat were bullies to Jack. They looked at her with curiosity and from a distance.

At the beginning of the fourth week at home, it was time for Jack to be let out to explore the garden and the surroundings of the house: the meadow, the woods, the neighbours’ gardens. It’s always a milestone when adopting a cat: either the cat comes back or doesn’t and then it’s the end. She came back. Yay!

A month and a half after we adopted her, Jack was comfortable to be on my son’s lap and Adrien, who was then 11 years old was delighted that she liked him enough to bestow her entire slim lightweight self on his warm gamer lap.

November 2019. A well-brushed pretty trophy cat poses on my bed while looking at me. I remember that she would stay in the house the first half of the nights and would below to be let out between 2am and 4am. Every night. My dad‘s room became her night spot. He did not mind getting up to let her out. Good man. After a couple years, though she hardly ever stepped into the house. Probably after we adopted a male adult Siberian Cat, Mickey-Raccoon.

September 2020. Another perfect cat pose. She always stayed nearby, as far as I know (and I work from home, so I’m around to notice). Either in or out the garden at various spots. Starting in 2022, she was regularly found in my neighbour’s garden, in particular around the times of her meals on her terrace 🙂

Late May 2022. Occupying the step leading to the end of the garden in the front of the house, enjoying the heat of the spring sun, looking cute.

Late August 2024. One of the last pictures I took of her, because she was with our other animals, looking like she was the tired leader of a lazy posse! She was the feared old animal clan matriarch, which that photo hints at. Farewell, Gracious. You had a good life and you made your mark in ours.

RIP Maman, Laurence Victoria Taranto Mercier

My mum passed away on Thursday 25 April 2024. She was found on Monday 29 April. She died in her bed, in her sleep, and didn’t suffer.

I don’t remember when I last spoke to her. Probably over a year ago. The last time I wrote about her, 8 months ago, to put into words that I had finally given up hope to get along with her, we had stopped speaking to each other 6 or so months prior.

Laurence Mercier eating “galette” (cake eaten for the Epiphany)

I want to remember her as we last were on speaking terms, in January 2023 when she visited with my dad, coming back to her house on the Riviera, that she had left around 2010.

My dad had left their home in the country the Tuesday to travel to my house where he was to stay five weeks. He split the drive in two days and called her on Wednesday after he arrived. They were to call each other when needed, per their practice.

On Thursday she went about her day, made plenty of phone calls in the morning, notably to her nephew to whom she left a voicemail because he wasn’t available. She took her morning and midday medication with her meals, but not her evening pills. Apparently she went for an afternoon nap she never woke up from.

Or maybe she did. From what we later saw there, my dad, who knows her habits, assumes she got up, prepared her afternoon pot of coffee that was untouched or barely so, took out of the shelves some canned asparagus for her dinner, some salad from the fridge which she left on the kitchen table, and went back to bed carrying milk which she set on the nightstand, which she did when her stomach ached.

We heard the next door neighbors recall that when they left for work on the next early morning, they noticed that my mother’s kitchen and bedroom window blinds were already (still, in fact) open and so she must have had an early start of the day, which was unusual. They spent the weekend elsewhere.

A friend of my parents’ alerted us Monday evening that he hadn’t been able to reach her since Sunday. My dad said it wasn’t usual and asked if he could drive there to check on her, which he did. It was a shock to him, probably compounded by the fact that he liked her very much. I am glad he went with his adult son, so he had some support and help while the medics and gendarmes did their things.

Her death was a surprise. She was rather healthy for an 82 year-old woman, with a stabilized diabetes and no other known conditions. She was rather active, busy and very driven although she would sometimes suffer sudden bouts of depression where she did nothing for days. But it wasn’t the case in the end.

My father was particularly stunned. His health has been bad and worsening very gradually for now over 26 years. He was (we all were, I think) anticipating he would be the first of the two to pass. But my mother’s wish, which she had shared with him a few times, was to be the first to go. She could not see herself alone, and didn’t want to have to deal with things. At least she was honest! Her wish was granted.

I helped my father arrange things from here (thanks to the telephone and the Web), and by the following Friday, we grabbed my twin brother and drove there. My mother’s funeral was the next Monday.

A friend of the family’s, our (now retired) mechanic, traveled from Cannes to attend. My dad’s youngest brother and his wife happened to be in the area and attended too. Other than the friend who found my mother and his wife, and a handful of persons I had met before, I didn’t know anyone among the fifty or so mourners.

Monday 6 May 2024 was a beautiful day in La Creuse. Partly sunny and cloudy, no rain. The church of Châtelus-Le-Marcheix was half full. The morning sun light made the two stained-glasses glow. We had chosen to play the “hallelujah” which she loved, from Georg Friedrich Händel’s Oratorio – Messiah (HWV 56, Part 2, No. 44 Chorus).

I read a short text I had written on behalf of me, my brother and my dad. My voice broke the entire time. I stood right next to her closed coffin but only thought about my brother and my dad, even as I looked at the sullen faces of the strangers who were her friends. Here’s the text:

Merci d’être rassemblés ici aujourd’hui alors que nous faisons nos adieux à Laurence Victoria, dans une région qu’elle a adoptée dès 1997 et dans laquelle est s’est définitivement installée un peu avant 2010.

Elle laisse un mari et deux enfants, choqués par la soudaineté de son départ. Je m’exprime aujourd’hui au nom de mon père André, mon frère jumeau Xavier et moi-même, Coralie.

Elle laisse également une soeur à Marseille et ses deux enfants, un frère en Allemagne et sa fille, ainsi que quelques cousins en Provence. Et bien sûr, elle laisse de nombreux amis ici en Creuse, et dans la région de Cannes dans les Alpes-Maritimes.

Ce fut un grand choc pour tout le monde, tant c’était soudain. Elle avait 82 ans et une bonne santé, telle qu’on peut l’espérer pour une personne de cet âge. Elle était très active et très occupée : par sa maison, son jardin, les associations auxquelles elle adhérait : Les Moussus du Thaurion, et le Secours Catholique. Elle faisait de la couture, un peu de marche, beaucoup de cuisine et de jardinage. Et elle bavardait : en personne, au téléphone, par courrier et même par SMS.

Il y aura deux semaines demain, mon père lui a dit au revoir comme il le fait une ou deux fois l’an pour venir séjourner chez moi dans le sud. Tous les deux se réjouissaient des choses qu’ils accompliraient avant de se retrouver ici début juin.

Mais voilà, le sort en a décidé autrement car elle s’est endormie pour une sieste dont elle ne s’est pas réveillée.

Partir la première, dans son sommeil, dans sa maison, correspondait entièrement à ses souhaits. Et elle fut exaucée.

Désormais nous faisons tous face à notre peine et nous devrons nous habituer à son absence. Je souhaite que sa générosité, sa ténacité ainsi que les fortes valeurs qui étaient les siennes, soient source d’inspiration pour ceux qui l’ont connue et ceux qui en parlent.

Une nouvelle fois, nous vous remercions d’être là, votre présence est précieuse à nos yeux.

I may have more to write about the day of her funeral, the rest of the week that we spent at the house, or other things about my mother, but not today.

My mum and me, it’s complicated

My brother and I turned 48 ten days ago. Our mother called him and left a happy birthday message on his voicemail. She didn’t call me.

I didn’t expect her to, actually. Our relationship is complicated and has been forever (i.e., as long as I can remember.)

She can be really nice, but not for very long. Not just to me, but it seems like I coax it out of her, somehow. Never deliberately though. I just don’t think we are suited for one another.

So most of the time she’s been absent from my life, and some of the time she’s been very nice to me. I remember a lot more of the former, sadly.

Sadly? Not, really. It’s too bad, for sure, but I have been accustomed to this for decades so it’s just part of the ebb and flow of our relationship.

In the last ten days, two emotions filled me:

  1. I was vexed for a couple of days. Nothing new. Each time she plays favourite feels like a slap to my face and it hurts for a bit.
  2. I now feel liberated and much much lighter.

How did I go from one emotion to the other? I simply chose to stop caring about this: I chose to give her up.

I am aware that in doing so I renounce any hope for a healthy mother-daughter dynamic, and that I will regret it when it’s too late. But on the other hand, I did try very hard for so long and, it was probably never going to happen. So I closed that book and shelved it. I am no longer in the expectation. I am lighter, free-er, and less sad.

Rentrée épique au lycée

La première rentrée d’Adrien au lycée hier fut totalement épique.

On avait le train à 7h07 depuis la gare qui est à 12 minutes à pied de la maison. Le papa d’Adrien, lui, devait prendre le même train 7 minutes avant à sa gare locale.

On est partis un poil en retard car Adrien a changé de short, puis de t-shirt. Aussi parce qu’on n’avait pas compté le temps de fermeture des porte/portail, ni de l’escalade des barricades en bétons anti-scooters qui ont été installées cet été sur le sentier forestier le long du stade de foot en bas de chez nous.

J’avais mon nouveau vélo pour rentrer plus vite depuis Cannes car j’avais pas vérifié qu’on peut embarquer un vélo dans les TER.

Bref. Quand on a vu qu’il était 7h05, et qu’on était encore à un demi-kilomètre de la gare, j’ai dit à Adrien de monter sur le vélo, et moi j’ai couru à côté.
Mais le passage entre les HLM pour monter à la gare comporte pas mal d’escaliers, alors il a fallu descendre du vélo et le soulever un peu pour franchir les marches (il fait 23 kilos le mastar…)

On y était pas tout à fait quand on a entendu le train entrer en gare…
… et puis la sonnette d’indication du blocage des portes retentir. Adrien était déjà sur la plate-forme et moi je courais toujours le long du grillage, à côté du train arrêté. L’entrée de la gare qui est le plus loin possible de là où on venait n’en finissait pas de ne pas arriver !

Une fois sur la plate-forme, Adrien reprenait le vélo; il n’avait pas réussi à ouvrir les portes. J’ai aussi essayé le bouton mais sans résultat, et c’est seulement là que le train est parti 🙁

Sur le chemin de la gare on avait vu le bus de ville #1 qui va à la gare de Cannes. Alors j’ai dit à Adrien de redescendre vers l’arrêt de bus par les escaliers directs, derrière le dispositif qui empêche les vélos de passer, et moi j’ai enfourché le vélo et repris le chemin par lequel on était arrivés.

Le bus partait dans 2 minutes et mettait 20 minutes pour rejoindre la gare de Cannes. Banco, il serait dans les temps.

Heureusement qu’Adrien avait un peu d’argent dans son porte-monnaie (moi j’avais juste ma carte de crédit), car sa carte de bus “Zou!” ne fonctionne pas sur le réseau des bus de ville.

Mon vélo étant interdit à bord du bus, j’ai dit à Adrien “vas-y Mijo, on se retrouve à Cannes !”

J’ai appelé le papa d’Adrien pour lui dire qu’on avait raté le train de quelques secondes, qu’Adrien était dans le bus et que je moi je prenais la route à vélo et qu’on se retrouverait (avec un peu de chance) tous à la gare de Cannes.

J’ai mis vingt minutes pour arriver. Le papa d’Adrien était déjà là, et Adrien lui était carrément flippé, toujours dans son bus, à cause d’un long arrêt à la mairie de Cannes, et certainement de pas connaître la topologie de la ville, donc de pas savoir où est la mairie relativement à la gare ni de pouvoir estimer le temps restant (vraiment pas longtemps une fois reparti).

Adrien est arrivé 10 minutes après, un peu angoissé (beaucoup). Nous avions encore 10 minutes avant que ce soit 8h, l’heure de la rentrée.

On a pris le passage souterrain qui mène à la rue Mimont derrière la gare. Ils m’ont aidée à soulever le vélo sur les escaliers de sortie (il y en a encore plus que ceux qui descendent au tunnel !) Et le lycée est à 2 minutes à pied une fois de l’autre côté.

À l’approche, j’ai vu un grand gars en cravate qui ouvrait le portail de l’établissement et disait aux jeunes amassés en large troupeau devant le lycée “allez, vous pouvez rentrer; vous êtes nombreux !”

Adrien s’est mis dans la file, et sans se retourner il s’est engouffré parmi les lycéens.

Vue du trottoir : large groupe d'élèves de dos marchant vers la file entrant par le portail du lycée

Je crois bien qu’on était les deux seuls adultes. D’ailleurs on s’est naturellement arrêtés au trottoir opposé à l’attroupement pour pas se mélanger aux gamins, ce qui aurait pu filer la honte au nôtre !